


Love Paradigm

by meridianpony



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Minor Character Death, Star Fever Week, This was not planned, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14245932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianpony/pseuds/meridianpony
Summary: Bly has a problem. A distracting problem. A problem that he can’t exactly fix, either, because… well. It’s not like he can make his commanding officer disappear.Written for norcumi and dogmatix's Star Fever Week!





	Love Paradigm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [norcumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/gifts), [dogmatix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/gifts).



> This... this was not planned. This isn't what I talked to norcumi and dogmatix about, this isn't what I was going to do, this wasn't... I don't even know where this came from. There's likely several mistakes in there, but I got fed up with it and today's the last day of star fever week so here we go, I'm posting it anyway. You know, if there's one thing I've learned from all of this it's that I'm really bad at writing formal, intelligent characters. I was gonna do this cool thing with Dooku and Ventress but Dooku just WOULD NOT COOPERATE. I think the problem is that I myself am neither intelligent or formal, so that... yeah. That didn't work. Have this instead.

The light of the sun above them is blinding as they emerge from the tunnel for the first time in two weeks. Even with his helmet on, Bly has to close his eyes as his HUD struggles to compensate for the intense glare. He hears hissed curses from the men behind him as they do the same thing.

This is the first time they’ve seen the sky in days. It’s almost a bit disorienting to be out of the caverns now. Bly had grown used to the stone walls surrounding him, the odd awareness of the tons of rock and soil above his head. Now that they’re out in the open, he feels exposed, and he has to fight to keep his finger from the trigger of his rifle. There’s no one out here but friendlies now. His eyes are still adjusting, but he can hear the heavy thud of walkers and the chatter and bustle of brothers. The droids are all down below, still hiding below the moon’s surface.

“Commander!”

The shout sounds very relieved. Bly’s HUD resets just in time for him to make out the armor markings of the man approaching them.

“Force, it’s good to see you, sir,” the clone says. “When we lost radio contact we nearly assumed the worst!”

Bly shakes his head and finally takes off his helmet, shooting a half-hearted grin at his second in command.

“Don’t worry, Free, you aren’t being promoted quite yet. We’re still alive.” Most of them, anyway. Bly had gone into the tunnel with three squads. Now he only has two. “I want a sitrep. How have things been topside?”

Free visibly relaxes at Bly’s words, much more at ease now that his Commander is back. “Nothing too exciting, sir. We managed to push the droid forces that didn’t make it to the tunnels down to the edge of the crater yesterday. It was easy for the tanks to tear them up after that. I was just starting to round up men to go in after you when we got your transmission.”

Bly hums in acknowledgement, turning back towards the weary men behind him.

“Get some rest, boys. Good work.”

There’s a chorus of tired replies as the two remaining squads begin to stumble away. Bly watches them go patiently, pride and sorrow warring in his mind before he pushes the emotions away and turns his full attention to Free.

“We were lucky to get that transmission out,” he tells the Captain quietly. “The droids are dug in deep, and we underestimated the terrain—there’s some sort of mineral down there that messes with comm signals. The farther we chased the clankers, the worse it became. It’s not good for us at all.”

Free winces. “I can’t imagine, sir. Will we still pursue them?” He’s half-guiding Bly towards a supply tent as he speaks, around huddled groups of brothers and steering clear of the Command tent. Bly knows what he’s doing, but he’s too tired to protest, especially once Free shoves a canteen of water into his hands.

“We’ll have to pursue them,” Bly answers dully. “The Sep Commander still has the coordinates of those droid factories we need. We can’t let him get away.” He takes a long drink from the canteen and can’t stop the sigh of relief from escaping his lungs. He drains the bottle faster than he probably should and plunks it down on the first table he passes as Free pushes him into the supply tent. “You said you were gathering men to go down there?”

“Yessir,” Free answers, grunting in annoyance when Bly sidesteps his attempt to get the Commander to sit down at a table. “ _Sir._ You need rest, too.”

Bly does need rest, but there’s a job to do. He fixes Free with a glare and raises an eyebrow when the Captain shoves a ration bar into his hand. He tries to explain himself, but Free doesn’t let him.

“Don’t even bother, I know your excuses by heart at this point. Commander… are you _sure_ you’re alright?”

It’s a sign of their absolute trust that Free is letting Bly make this kind of call. Bly honestly considers himself for a long moment, taking stock of his own exhaustion. He’s tired, but he can still function. Once he gets this ration bar down he’ll be a lot better already. He can rest after they get rid of the droids.

“I’ll be alright, Free, I promise,” he says. “We’re nearly done here, anyway. We’ll be off this moon soon enough.”

Free nods wordlessly and watches as Bly inhales the ration bar. He’s shuffling his feet just a little. Bly shoots him another look, immediately suspicious of the movement. A lot of brothers fidget when they’re hiding something. Free does nothing to try and stop the motion, so the moment Bly finishes chewing his food he asks the question.

“Free… What’s wrong?”

Free frowns.

“Nothing’s _wrong,_ sir. It’s just… different.”

“Don’t try and avoid the question, Captain.”

The use of rank isn’t meant to be harsh or demanding, just a gentle reminder. Bly doesn’t like being kept in the dark. Free knows this. He grimaces and slumps just a little, but he holds firm regardless. “The moment I tell you, you’ll be headed straight for the command tent. You need at least a few minutes to recuperate before you throw yourself back into the fight.”

Bly turns his head to glance in the direction of the command tent. He’s curious now. “I’ll take it easy for a bit, then. Tell me.”

Free’s helmet is still on, but Bly can practically sense the unhappy eye roll.

“Alright, fine. You’re lying, but fine. The Republic… sort of sent us a Jedi while you were gone.”

Silence, for a moment. Out of all of the things Free could have said, that wasn’t one Bly was expecting.

“I’m sorry, did you say—are you serious?”

Free shrugs at him helplessly.

“It was a quick decision, apparently. The day after you left, they notified us. The ship arrived a few days ago. We couldn’t reach you on the radio, so…”

Kriff, he’s serious. The Republic sent them a Jedi.

“Force, why wasn’t that the first thing you told me when we got back?” Bly demands, shoving his helmet back on. Free huffs, trailing behind him as Bly marches across the rocky ground straight towards the command tent. This is more important than rest.

“Because I knew you’d do _this!”_ the Captain defends, and okay, that’s a fair point. Bly slows his pace just a little, if only to slightly appease his SIC.

“Who is it?” he asks. “The host—is it one of us?”

“No,” Free answers. “It’s not a brother. It’s a Twi’lek. They’ve been together since before the Separatist uprising started.”

Bly makes his way around a silent walker and hums to show that he’d heard, mind whirling. The 327th Star Corps hadn’t been assigned a Jedi initially. There aren’t nearly enough Jedi to go around, so an ordinary Republic Admiral had been placed in command instead. Why the sudden change? Where had this Jedi come from?

He steels himself for a split second before raising the entrance flap of the command tent and ducking inside. Free is right on his heels. The Captain steps in front of him as they go inside, an action that Bly doesn’t mind right now because he doesn’t really know what he’s in for yet.

The first thing Bly registers is _blue._ The color is startling to him—he’s been in the dark for two weeks, and on top of that, the only colors that exist naturally on this moon are grey and brown. No plant life can survive on the rocks, and the clones don’t exactly have much color variety except the yellow splotches of paint on their armor. Even the sky is grey here, so blue is a welcome change. Bly can do nothing but drink in the hue for a long moment, appreciating the change. He hadn’t even known it was _possible_ to be color-starved.

Free clears his throat. “Ah, General—”

The Jedi is standing by the portable holoprojector, studying the projected sonar map of the caverns below the surface. Her back is to them, but she turns at the sound of Free’s voice.

“Captain Free,” she greets, a small smile gracing her lips. Her gaze moves from Free to Bly, who straightens to attention.

“General, this is Commander Bly,” Free introduces. “He and his men just returned to the surface.”

“Reporting for duty, General,” Bly contributes, saluting quickly. “I apologize for not being here when you arrived, sir.”

The Jedi smiles at him.

“I am Aayla Secura,” she tells him warmly. “I’m glad to see you’ve returned safely, Commander. There’s no need to apologize for your absence.” Her gaze drifts to Free again before returning to Bly. “Your Captain has informed me that you are an extremely competent man. I look forward to working with you.”

“Ah—” Bly stumbles over words for a half-second, eyes going wide behind his visor. He hadn’t expected compliments. “Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.”

General Secura motions both clones closer to the holoprojector, gesturing towards the twisting pathways hovering in the air. “Forgive me for asking this of you so soon, Commander Bly, but I believe I’ve found a solution to our _infestation_ problem.”

A surge of adrenaline flows through Bly’s veins at her words. If the Jedi has a plan, he’s more than willing to hear it. On top of that… the brief flash of aggression, of dangerous determination and sly confidence as she’d spoken that last bit sends excitement shivering down his spine.

He doesn’t know why, but he’s intrigued by General Secura. There’s something compelling about her, strong enough to squash his exhaustion into something almost entirely forgotten in the back of his mind. He steps up to the holoprojector and looks back at her, readying himself.

“What do you have in mind, General?” he asks.

She grins at him. There’s fire in her eyes, and Bly can’t help but smile back.

* * *

 

The General doesn’t fight so much as dance, but it’s absolutely devastating to their enemies, even in the dark. Her lightsaber ignites in a blaze of cerulean light, lighting the way forward. It’s like a beacon, rallying the troops, and the platoon of men behind them let out whoops of excitement as General Secura leaps forwards with unparalleled grace, cutting droids to bits with every sweep of her blade.

Bly and his men hadn’t been able to risk using explosives to get to other caverns in fear of bringing the whole tunnel down on top of them. A lightsaber eliminates that risk, and the droids had been caught completely off guard by the appearance of a Jedi cutting her way through the thin wall into their fortified cave. They’re in full retreat, but any machine that isn’t cut down by the General is torn apart by blasterfire from the clones.

Victory comes almost easily. The General’s plan works perfectly—minimal casualties, maximum efficiency, and complete success. Bly’s no fool—he knows that it’s naive to think that every one of her plans will turn out this way, but he feels a heavy responsibility lifted from his shoulders nonetheless.

It’s a relief, to have a Jedi serving with them. Bly watches her deflect blasterfire that would have surely killed several men who hadn’t been able to react in time and shakes his head gratefully.

He’s especially glad for her presence when one of the last remaining droids tosses a thermal detonator towards them. Shouts of alarm go up, clones scrambling to put some distance between them and the device because there’s no cover at all down here—but General Secura stands her ground. Her hand goes up, and her eyes flare blue—it’s always blue with her, apparently—so when the detonator explodes, the flames and shrapnel are shoved down the tunnel towards the droids instead of the clones. A rookie standing behind Bly lets out an incredulous curse, and another chorus of triumphant shouts follow the echo of the blast.

Bly watches the General fight, and thinks that maybe this whole war won’t be so bad after all.

* * *

 

The first time Bly truly interacts with General Secura’s host is… a memorable occasion. Completely accidental, too, no matter what anyone else says. Bly hadn’t meant to walk in on her. It was just… bad timing.

(Some men liked to joke and say, “That depends on your point of view, sir, I’d say it was _very_ good timing—” until Bly started making them run laps around camp until they dropped if he heard a similar comment.)

It truly was accidental. They were station on an inhabited planet at the time, and the locals were kind enough to give some squads access to a few very modest living facilities. Bly makes sure the assignments are fair, and rotates men out every night so everyone gets the chance to have an actual bed every so often. The General has her own quarters, and though she had attempted to be placed on the rotation schedule, Bly hadn’t allowed it. She needs to be well-rested.

Bly just… doesn’t really think. He has the most recent scouting report in his hands, and he’s so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t think twice about walking right into her quarters. He’s expecting her to be at the modest little desk by the wall, studying the reports just as he was.

General Secura… isn’t doing that.

He doesn’t see anything. He _really_ doesn’t. The only thing he catches a glimpse of as he lifts his gaze from the datapad is a pile of familiar brown clothes folded neatly on the floor, and then his eyes sort of… stall. He stares at the clothes in incomprehension for a long, long moment.

He’s becomes vaguely aware of the sound of rippling water and has just enough time to feel a pang of dread before an unholy _screech_ splits the quiet evening air, followed by half-screamed words:

“What are you _doing in here!?”_

Bly jerks, fumbles his datapad and completely drops it in his haste to whirl around. He can easily put two and two together and this—no, just—he can’t—

His forehead collides with the side of the doorframe. _Force,_ it hurts—he regrets not wearing his helmet as he stumbles out and General Secura is still shouting after him—except he’s not sure it’s General Secura, because he’s never heard the Jedi yell like that before. He slams her door shut and hustles down the hall, red-faced and really, _really_ hoping no one had heard that.

He’s not so lucky. A squad’s worth of brothers round the corner, eyes wide and most of them only halfway into their armor.

“Who’s shouting?” a lieutenant demands. “Commander, was that the General? Is everyone alright?”

Bly honestly can’t answer him for a moment. It kind of feels like he’s in shock.

“Everything’s fine, Lieutenant,” he chokes out after a second. “At ease.”

The Lieutenant is still staring at him, disbelief evident on his face. “Sir, we heard shouting. Are you sure?”

Bly opens his mouth, closes it again.

“I—”

“Everything is fine, Lieutenant Chrome,” General Secura says from behind them all, and Bly actually flinches guiltily. “There’s no need to raise the alarm.”

The clones in front of Bly are staring, eyes wide. Bly knows he shouldn’t look but he does anyway—the General is leaning out of her room, wrapped in _only a towel._ Bly bites down on his tongue and averts his gaze.

Lieutenant Chrome swallows audibly. “Yes, General. Sorry about the commotion, then.”

The clones move to leave. Bly starts to follow them automatically, resisting the urge to duck his head in shame. The other clones disperse quickly, and Bly is two steps from being gone as well when the General speaks again.

“Commander, a word?”

Bly freezes at her call as he listens to her door click closed. He stands still, alone in the hallway, for ten seconds. Twenty.

At forty-five seconds, he steels himself and makes his way slowly in front of her door again. This time, he knocks.

General Secura opens the door at a minute and fifteen seconds. She’s in her usual garb this time, and there’s a glare on her face that Bly has only ever seen directed at the enemy before. He shudders to be the target of it now.

“Foolish clone,” General Secura mutters. _Not_ General Secura, actually. The Basic is heavily accented by Ryl, much more so than when the General speaks.

“I—” Bly begins, but then she grabs his wrist abruptly and tugs him inside before he can protest. She closes the door behind them and shoves Bly at the chair in the corner. He sits obediently, bracing himself for chastisement, and watches silently as she begins to pace.

General Secura and her host are having a silent conversation. Bly watches the myriad of expression that cross the Twi’lek’s face curiously, taking stock of the rest of the room while she moves. A large metal tub sits in the corner of the room, still half-full of water, and Bly feels a pang of guilt again.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, because he really is. He hadn’t meant to breach her privacy like that. She turns to look at him as he speaks, and he knows immediately that it isn’t his General. The Twi’lek host’s expression isn’t hostile, exactly, but it’s different. Detached, almost.   

“I know you are,” she responds. “Aayla can feel that much, at least.”

Bly doesn’t know what to say in response to that, so he falls silent again. He waits as another silent conversation takes place. Finally, the Twi’lek sighs.

“I suppose it cannot be helped,” she murmurs. “I am called Ta’oran, Commander. I am Jedi Knight Aayla Secura’s host.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bly responds, partially on autopilot. He’s waiting for the other foot to drop. He’d wondered why General Secura hadn’t introduced her host to him in the beginning, but he hadn’t spared it too much thought. There’d been other things on his mind at the time. Ta’oran lets out a breath and finally stops pacing, perching on the edge of the small bed instead.

“I had not intended to interact with you in any way, though Aayla now insists that I at least explain myself,” Ta’oran grumbles. Bly shifts in his chair.

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, Ta’oran,” he tells her respectfully. “Any secrets you have are yours and the General’s to keep. I don’t need to know.” He’s curious, and he likes to know all the details, but what goes on between a Jedi and a host is different. If it’s private, Bly can convince himself that it isn’t important.

Ta’oran hums, and for the first time her expression warms a little.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Commander, though in this case the Jedi is right,” she says. “I should owe some explanation for my absence.” She pauses here, mutters something quietly in Ryl that Bly wouldn’t have been able to translate even if he’d caught the words. “I might as well be straightforward. Aayla and I have come to an agreement that is beneficial to both of us. I enjoy hosting. It gives me purpose, a reason to live. I do _not_ enjoy combat, or any type of conflict, for that matter. I prefer to leave Aayla to deal with that.”

Bly frowns. “Why are you still hosting, then?” he asks. “There are plenty of others who’d be willing to host General Secura. We’ve… been fighting a lot recently.”

Ta’oran snorts. “I am aware,” she tells him. “Aayla has offered many times to switch hosts, so that I could escape the war if I so choose. It is my choice to remain with her despite our differences. I simply allow her to take the lead, for the most part. I was a slave before, many many years ago.” Her voice is light, disassociating. Bly’s eyes widen at the revelation, but he says nothing. “Some who have chosen to side with the Separatists were partially responsible for my enslavement. Hosting is… trust. Understanding. Strength. Things that I did not have before. Now hosting gives me more freedom than I ever imagined.” Despite the harsh subject and the fact that her voice quiets as she speaks of her past, there is a spark in her eyes that shows incredible resilience and hope.

Ta’oran and Aayla aren’t as different as Bly had initially thought. The fire in Aayla is still in Ta’oran—it’s just a little harder to find, and less aggressive.

“There are Jedi who don’t fight,” Bly tells her carefully, because he feels like he has to. No one should be forced to fight if there’s another way out. “You could try to host someone different.” It’s not that easy, he knows, but it’s still an option.

It’s the wrong thing to say. Ta’oran huffs at him, lips curling back just a little. Her whole body goes tense. Bly lifts his hands defensively.

“I meant no offense by it, sir. I’m just… worried for you, that’s all.” The _sir_ slips out before he can stop it. Ta’oran doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she doesn’t care. She relaxes slightly, appeased by his words.

“Aayla Secura saved me from my captors when we first met,” she tells him quietly. “She liberated my sisters and I, and showed us how to live again. She and I understand each other well. I would not feel as at peace with another Jedi as I do with her.”

Bly nods respectfully, processing her words. Ta’oran hosts willingly, and during battle—which has practically been every moment since Bly has met them—she retreats to a far corner of her mind, allowing the Jedi to take over completely. It’s an interesting arrangement, one Bly hasn’t heard of before, but one that works. So long as Ta’oran is comfortable with everything, Bly isn’t concerned.

Ta’oarn’s eyes flash blue. General Secura leans forwards, warmth in her gaze as usual.

“I appreciate your understanding, Commander Bly,” she says. “We wanted to let you know, just as an explanation. I’ve gathered enough to know that you don’t like being kept in the dark.”

“That’s true, General, but I had no problem with this,” Bly tells her honestly. “Thank you for telling me anyway, though.”

General Secura’s lips quirk upwards. “Now was as good a time to tell you as any, I suppose,” she says, amusement clear in her tone. Bly winces and very pointedly does not look towards the bath in the corner.

“Ah, General, I… I’m _really_ sorry about that, I didn’t mean—”

General Secura laughs, and then Ta’oran rolls her eyes, the barest hint of a smile on her face. Their body languages are completely different—as long as Bly pays attention, he can tell exactly who’s in charge.

When he finally leaves the General’s quarters, he’s horrified to realize that rumors have already begun to circulate, and attempting to explain things only makes it worse.

Fortunately, Bly is a Commander, and has every authority to make the originators of ridiculous rumors suffer. He does so, without mercy, and the rumors die away.

For the time being, at least.

* * *

 

The war drags on. The 327th Star Corps travel across the Outer Rim, and at this point, Bly doesn’t know what they’d do without General Secura on their side. She leads them into battle as a spearhead, the blue blade in her hands and a war-cry on her lips. The men follow her without hesitation. Her willingness to fight only gives them more courage. With her at the front lines, fighting to defend them and heading their charges, everything is different. Not easier, really—there are still plenty of casualties, but now they have General Secura to take care of higher level threats. Bly once watches her fling herself at a tank and use the force to yank the barrel away from them just before it could fire into the midst of Republic forces. She destroys the massive vehicle in under a minute. Such a task would have taken a lot of time and many casualties if the clones had been on their own.

She’s a warrior, and the men respect her for her prowess. It helps that they trust her outside the battleground, too. She’s kind to them, invites them into mission briefings and listens when they speak. Bly walks outside his tent one morning to find her surrounded by a platoon’s worth of men near the heavy guns, engaged in easy banter that leaves the men hollering in excitement.

She fits in with them, and Bly wonders what Ta’oran thinks of all of that.

He tries his best to interact with the host when he can. The moments where they _aren’t_ in immediate danger are few and far in between, and because of that Ta’oran typically has control during the 327th’s rare moments of free time unless the General is needed. Bly attempts to interact with her during other times, too, muttering quiet greetings to the host as he meets with the General. Occasionally she’ll respond, with a few words or a brief smile, and Bly considers those victories. The two of them don’t have very much in common. Ta’oran wants to avoid the war. Bly was _made_ for the war. He refuses to let that deter him, however, and he does watch Ta’oran become more tolerant towards him as time passes. There is still some detachment, but it is less prominent now.

There’s always a warm smile on General Secura’s face when she regains control after Bly interacts with Ta’oran. It absolutely never fails to make Bly blink in surprise. At the same time, though, he basks in her approval. He wants to impress General Secura—wants to prove that he and the men can keep up with her, that they can be just as strong as she is. It’s not an easy task, but Bly is determined to try, and if the advancing performances of his men are of any indication, they’re all in agreement.

The 327th are _her_ men, and they’re not planning on letting her down.

* * *

 

Bly can pinpoint the exact moment his admiration for General Secura turns into… something else.

They’re on the jungle planet Moraga, slogging through mud and swamp and all sorts of disgusting undergrowth. It’s a hard campaign. The droids are equipped with very heavy weaponry. Turrets line the trees, accompanied by heavy SBDs that light the jungle with purple-tinged rockets.

It’s one such rocket that nearly takes Bly’s head off as they advance towards a droid outpost, in a clever ambush that decimates the squad standing in front of him and would have taken Bly as well if General Secura hadn’t tackled him into the mud.

 They’re pinned down in an instant. Bly hears the rattling sound of turrets split the air. General Secura is right next to him, pressed to the earth, and they both flinch when they hear a strangled cry come from one of their men.

“General—” Bly tries to shout, twisting to try and look at her without exposing himself to the droids. Blasterfire screams over their heads, and his heart nearly stops when General Secura leaps to her feet anyway. When he finally gets a glimpse at her face, his eyes widen at her expression. The intense focus and determination is unlike anything he’s ever seen before.

General Secura is standing over him, lightsaber ignited, teeth bared, standing firm against a hailfire so thick that Bly can barely tell one blaster bolt from the next. There’s mud streaked over her skin, a bandage wrapped around one arm, and in that moment Bly thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.

...oh.  

He’s not really sure where the thought comes from. He’s not sure where it transitioned, how it changed so suddenly from admiration to _this_ , but as soon as it’s in his head he can’t get rid of it.

She’s _beautiful._ Her eyes flare blue, and when she pushes outwards with her hands a shockwave of power ripples through the air. The sheer strength of it makes Bly’s hair stand on end. His breath catches in his chest, and he wants—he wants to tell her that, suddenly, that she’s beautiful and powerful and—

Oh no.

That’s… that’s unacceptable. Bly catches his thoughts and struggles to halt them even as he climbs to his feet. No, he can’t allow himself to think like that. He needs to put an end to that _immediately,_ because there’s way too many complications involved to even consider things like that.

Not to mention Ta’oran, and Bly doesn’t even—he doesn’t even know _how_ to really think about that, so he stops thinking about it altogether instead.

Bly’s perfectly capable of keeping himself under control. He pushes those thoughts to the back of his head and focuses on the task at hand instead, standing just behind General Secura and returning fire at the remaining droids.

* * *

 

Bly is successful at not thinking about it for a while. Long enough, actually, that when he thinks about it again it catches him off guard just as much as it had the first time.

In Bly’s defense, the second time is under much more stressful circumstances for everyone. General Secura is captured. She goes off with two squads to secure an objective and doesn’t come back.  

When the 327th finally finds out what happened, the men are eager to get her out of there. Some are anxious for her safety, gearing up quickly in anticipation of a rescue. Others are frustrated or angry at the Separatists.

Bly knows what happens to Jedi who get captured by the Separatists. He’s seen Wolffe’s scars, heard the stories, read the reports. His first emotion upon learning the news isn’t frustration or anger or anxiousness. His first emotion is terror, and he _knows_ it’s because of… _those_ thoughts. Because he admires General Secura far more than he should.

Bly is terrified for General Secura’s safety, and Ta’oran’s, too, so he abandons the 327th’s actual objective and pours every single one of their resources into a rescue operation.

It’s a _stupid_ decision, really. Bly should only divert a smaller group instead of move the entire army, but this way is faster, and none of the men protest. They cheer instead, shouting war-cries and promises of revenge at the sky as the orders are issued. Bly knows the Republic will lose ground for it, but he can’t help himself. They need to get the General out of there as soon as possible.

It’s not an easy fight. The Separatists are waiting for them, but they hadn’t been expecting the entire army, and that’s the only reason why they make any headway at all. When they finally get into the facility they’d been holding her in, twelve hours after her imprisonment, General Secura isn’t in charge. It’s Ta’oran who rises to her feet when they open the cell door, breathing heavily and dripping magenta-colored blood from several long knife wounds on her body. She grins humorlessly at Bly when he darts forwards to help support her.

“I still have her. She is not responding, but she is here,” the Twi’lek tells them. It’s the first thing she says, and she sways unsteadily as she speaks.

“Force,” Bly hisses, gesturing frantically for the medic to come closer. “Why isn’t she… is she alright?” Somehow, he’s able to keep most of the frantic concern out of his voice. The words come out slightly strained instead of panicked.

“She’s just… weakened, I think, sir. Possibly unconscious. She fought for a long time before they were able to take her down,” the medic tells him quickly as he sets to work bandaging one of the wounds on Ta’oran’s arms. “If Ta’oran still has her we should be alright.”

Ta’oran snarls.

“They did not get anything from me,” she hisses. “Nor would they have, even if they’d thought to continue the interrogation. Instead the fools thought it would be better to preserve my body, and they paid the price for their mistake.”

Bly feels a surge of anger at her words. Her captors are already dead along with most of the droids. They had refused to surrender, and Bly had felt no reservations about taking the whole facility with lethal force as a result. Bly hopes rather savagely that their deaths hadn’t been quick.

They get her out of there as fast as they can and load her onto a transport speeder with the medic. There’s still a few skirmishes occurring in the hills around them, but Bly calls his men off anyway. They have what they came for, and now they need to go see how bad the situation is at the front. Bly reaches for Ta’oran carefully before the medic can drive away, placing a hand on her shoulder comfortingly to  avoid the bandages around her arms and torso.

“Ta’oran… let me know when she wakes up?”

Instantly he knows he’s made a mistake in speaking. His voice is far too soft, almost vulnerable, and he inwardly winces at the tone. Ta’oran actually tilts her head, studying his helmeted face seriously for a long moment. Even though she can’t see his expression Bly resists the urge to turn away.

“Of course,” she finally replies, and a weak smile appears on her face. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Rest,” Bly tells her gently. “Both of you. We can handle things down here.” Ta’oran nods, and in the next moment, they’re gone.

Bly lets out a massive breath and lets his shoulders slump.

This… this is bad.

He’d dropped _everything_ because they’d been caught. Regardless of how important the POW is, that’s absolutely not proper protocol. Bly has the authority to make a call like that, sure, but that doesn’t mean it was the right choice.

The fear he’d felt isn’t normal, at all, and at the very back of his mind he knows why.

No.

He refuses to acknowledge it. It’s too complicated, too dangerous. Inappropriate, in more ways than one. A stupid fantasy, one that shouldn’t even _exist._ Bly is a soldier. He’s not made for… that.

Maybe if he ignores it, it’ll just go away.

* * *

 

Bly has a problem.

A distracting problem. A problem that he can’t exactly fix, either, because… well. It’s not like he can make his commanding officer disappear.

As it turns out, ignoring his thoughts doesn’t make them go away. It just makes him feel tense, always on edge, waiting for the thoughts to resurface and racing to shove them back down when they do. It doesn’t work at all. The thoughts still come, still catch him off guard and refuse to disappear.

So much for denial.

He caves and admits it to himself in the silence of his room on the flagship, pacing quietly in front of his desk.

Bly thinks he’s falling in love with the General.

But that—that’s stupid. That’s not… shouldn’t be a thing. Shouldn’t even exist as a possible problem to have.

Except it is a problem, and it’s just getting worse and worse.

There’s _a lot_ of things wrong with this _._ So many that Bly starts wringing his hands just from thinking about some of them. To start with, General Secura’s his commanding officer. He’s positive there’s rules about that somewhere.

Then, there’s the issue that starts to make things confusing.

General Secura is a Jedi.

It’s not just the thing about their “no attachments” code, because Bly knows for a fact that there are plenty of Jedi who blatantly and publicly ignore that rule. There’s also Ta’oran.

Bly… doesn’t think he’s attracted to Ta’oran—at least, not like how he is to General Secura. Perhaps it would be simpler if he was, because none can deny Ta’oran’s beauty. A large portion of the battalion turns to stare at her every time she passes them by. If he did the same, Bly could pass it off as a simple physical attraction.

It’s not just the body. His heartbeat doesn’t pick up when he talks with the host, his breathing doesn’t hitch in his chest like it does when he’s at General Secura’s side. Ta’oran is a friend, someone he cares about for certain, but it’s _different._

Bly falls in love with Jedi-blue eyes and the soothing Force presence of his General brushing against his mind to check on his squad while they’re out on patrol. He falls in love with the way she throws herself in front of their men, lightsaber ignited and a furious expression on her face as she protects them. He falls in love with the way she drops them all to the mats after walking in on a platoon sparring session, with the way she tears the droids to little pieces with graceful movements, with the soft smile on her face as she watches the clones settle down for the night.

It isn’t Ta’oran. It’s Aayla Secura.

Bly falls in love with a Jedi, and he… he doesn’t even know what that _means._

How does he even begin to untangle himself from such a mess?

He makes the mistake of trying to talk to Rex about it over holoprojector in between campaigns. Rex barely listens for two minutes before he starts laughing, which is hypocritical of him, but Rex absolutely ignores this when Bly tries to point it out.  

Bly’s on his own to figure things out.

The obvious momentary solution to the problem is for Bly to put all of his emotions on lockdown, to stop thinking about it like he had before. His past attempts have proven ineffective, but Bly resolves to try again.

Not thinking about is easier than trying to figure out what liking a Jedi even means. They’re at war regardless. There’s no room for these kinds of emotions during battle, as Bly has already experienced. It had been dangerous to care so intently for her.

This time, he’s going to be successful. It’s going to work.

* * *

 

He’s wrong. Again.

It works for… maybe a day and a half. If he’s being generous.

It’s hard. It’s too hard. Bly spends all morning steeling himself, shoving his newfound realizations away before he’d stepped out of his quarters. All is well until he arrives on the bridge of the flagship, coming to a quick salute at General Secura’s side.

“Commander,” Ta’oran greets, not unkindly, but formal; respectful. “Bly,” General Secura says a heartbeat later, warm and kind and fond. Bly’s heart is practically given whiplash from how different the two words were—how the General had shifted slightly, trustingly allowing him to watch her blind spot. How she’d used his name, and he doesn’t recall that transition happening before now but he’s ashamed at how much he likes hearing it.   

In an instant, his defenses are shattered.

“General,” he manages, and swallows at the caring-amused-curious look she sends him.

Oh, Force. Had he sounded strange? Or—kriff, even worse, can she sense everything he’s thinking right now? She doesn’t say anything, though, doesn’t give any indication that she’s listening in. Instead she turns back to the bridge.

Bly can’t decide if he’s disappointed or not.

* * *

 

Captain Free notices that something’s changed, and Bly’s honestly not surprised. Admitting his feelings to himself has made things infinitely worse. Now that he has a label for the emotion, everything is _real._ Free brings it up one afternoon while they’re sitting in the mess hall, during a lull in their conversation about Nova Company and catching Bly completely off guard.

“So, Bly. How are you feeling about General Secura these days?”

It’s so unexpected that Bly completely freezes up for an instant, all of his doubts and fears and repressed emotions rising to the surface faster than he can control them. He’s not sure quite what expression is on his face but it must be pretty spectacular because Free snorts and leans back in his seat.

“Thought so. You’re more whipped than anyone else in the battalion, I think. You gonna try anything?”

Bly finally unfreezes, reaches towards his plate to take a bite casually. “She’s a _Jedi.”_ He says it with an impressive amount of nonchalance, but Free isn’t convinced in the slightest.

“Does that matter?”

Bly nearly chokes on his food.

“Does that— _of course it matters,”_ he answers after swallowing. Free raises an eyebrow at him.

“Why? It’s not like anyone’s going to care.”

Bly shakes his head. “It’s… it’s not the host, Free. It’s the General. _Just_ the General.”

There’s a brief pause.

“Huh,” Free says. He places his fork down slowly. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Bly grits his teeth in frustration.

“I wasn’t either,” he mutters petulantly, and resists the urge to put his head down. “What do I—how am I even supposed to deal with this? Literally _none of this_ is simple, Free. There’s nothing about it that would work. Besides…” he pauses for a half second, then continues in a rushed voice as if speaking faster will lessen the blow. “I doubt she feels anything for me anyway. Even if she did she probably wouldn’t act on it, whether it’s for the Jedi code or out of respect for her host.”   

“Mmm. Are you sure  about that? You’ve been distracted recently, you know. Always staring into space. Thinking through your options? Trying to figure out a way to make things work?”

“I have—I have _not_ been distracted lately!” Bly tries to defend. Free shoots him an unimpressed look.

“Sorry, sir, yes you have. Not enough to lower your work efficiency, but just enough that I’ve noticed.”

“Of course you’d notice, I’ve known you since Kamino,” Bly grumbles. “I keep trying to ignore it, but every time I do it just makes things worse! It’s… it’s not proper for me to be thinking this way!”

“Listen, Bly. This is my advice, alright—”

“Advice stemming from what experience, exactly?” Bly interrupts wryly. Free mock-glares at him, waving a hand and ignoring the comment.

“I don’t think it’s something that’s gonna go away. You’re either going to have to take action and face either rejection or acceptance… or you can keep worrying about it, keep getting more stressed, and the war will keep dragging on regardless.”

“If this were normal circumstances I might actually consider that decent advice,” Bly tells him. “Except it _isn’t that simple._ I don’t even know where to start.”

Free lets out a soft laugh.

“I know it isn’t that simple, Commander. That’s all I’ve got. Do you really want to keep running away from this problem?”

Bly brings one hand up to press against his forehead. No, he really doesn’t want to keep avoiding this, because it’s horrible and distracting and stressful. But at the same time… what else can he do?

Free frowns. “Let me put it this way, Bly. What do you want?”

Bly blinks at him. “What?”

“What do you want?” Free repeats. “You like the General, yes? What do you want? Just for a minute, pretend like there isn’t a war going on, or a host, or a code, or anything in your way. Would you try and talk with her about this then?”

Bly clenches his fists.

“Yes,” he admits quietly. “I’d… I’d at least _try._ That’s not the point, though. There _is_ a war, and there _are_ rules, and Ta’oran is involved. So what do I do?”

Free looks like he’s running out of ideas. He flounders for a brief moment as if searching for something else to say before shrugging and giving Bly a look of pity.

“Be patient, then, I guess,” he answers. “I don’t know what else to say. All you can do is wait for something to happen.”

Bly lets out a frustrated sigh and puts his head fully down on the table.

Great, just great. He hadn’t gotten any more answers, and all he can do is sit tight and worry.

He’s really starting to hate waiting.

* * *

 

“Call it in! Call it, just _call it!”_ Bly yells into his comm. He stumbles on his sprained ankle as he dives through a patch of trees, and is forced to tuck into an awkward roll to avoid a spray of blasterfire from droids to his left. “What the _kriff_ are you waiting for, _do it!_ We’re not going to get another chance, the shield will go back up in two minutes!”

The scratchy, barely audible reply comes as Bly is slamming his back against a thick tree for cover, gasping at the way the hurried motion jostles the blaster wound in his shoulder.

_“Commander, you’re still in the blast zone radius! Any attempt at an airstrike now would take you with it, you have to get further away!”_

Bly lets out a sharp hiss as he risks leaning out of cover to fire at the horde of droids pursuing him. He gets two before the machines locate him, and then he’s forced to duck back behind the tree. He can feel the vibrations of the tree against his back as the blasterfire collides with the trunk, and tiny slivers of bark skitter across his armor.

“Doesn’t matter,” he grits out. “Pilot, begin the airstrike, _now._ We’re running out of time. I’m—”

The sun is setting. It’s harder to see anything, so it’s pure luck that allows him to notice the commando droid emerging from the undergrowth before it can shoot him. He hits the dirt hard and rolls as red lasers streak over his head.

They’re all around him now. He scrambles to his feet and tries to start running again, but his ankle doesn’t let him get very much speed. He hobbles through the trees, gripping his rifle as if it were a lifeline and praying that he won’t get shot in the back. He’s panting hard, but in between breaths he manages to finish his thought to the pilot.

“I’m dead anyway, Lieutenant. Begin the airstrike. That’s an _order.”_

There’s no way Bly is going to survive this. There are simply too many droids, and Bly is completely without backup—the men he’d come in with to take down the shield generator are all already dead. They’d gotten into the facility just fine, but their escape had ended disastrously.

Bly is the only one left.

_“Sir…”_

One of the droids throws a thermal detonator towards him. Bly swears and throws himself to the side, but he isn’t quite fast enough. The blast tosses him into the nearest tree. His armor protects him from the worst of the hit, but his ribs are definitely bruised, possibly fractured. By some miracle, he holds onto his gun.

Bly honestly has no idea how he’s still alive.

He’s too slow to get up. A cluster of B1 droids are running towards him. Bly stumbles as he returns fire, snarling into his comm as he backs up.

“That wasn’t a suggestion, pilot, that was an order. You need to begin the airstrike _right now.”_

The last B1 goes down, and Bly feels a savage sort of glee at the fact that even though he’s no doubt moments from death his aim is still as effective as ever.

If they want Bly dead, they’re going to have to do better than that.

 _“Yes, sir.”_ The pilot still sounds reluctant, but now that he’s gotten an affirmative Bly knows the man will do his job. That makes him relax, just a little bit.

_“Bly.”_

Her voice is like a shot of adrenaline, a slap across the face. A lump forms in his throat. Force, he hadn’t even—he hasn’t spoken to her in three days, since the mission began, and now he’s going to die and he suddenly _really_ wishes he’d taken Free’s advice earlier.

“General, I—”

Marching feet sound from behind him, slightly muffled on the forest floor. He whirls, firing into the trees, only to hear more droids from behind him again. Then to the side. Then the other.

He’s surrounded.

 _“Stay alive,”_ General Secura orders fiercely. _“We are en route to your coordinates. ETA thirty seconds.”_

Bly stumbles. It. A blaster bolt skims over his pauldron, glancing off of the thick armor but nearly sending him to the ground again.

“General, don’t—there’s too many—!”

_“Twenty seconds.”_

She’ll be caught in the airstrike, too. She can’t come here, she _can’t_ —

He gets shot in the back. It hurts, worse than the hit on his shoulder or the sprained ankle or the cracked ribs. The bolt gets all the way through his armor, scorching the skin of his back. He grits his teeth to stop the strangled cry from escaping his throat, instead clenching his fingers so hard around his rifle that his hands shake.

When he goes down this time, he’s certain that he won’t be getting back up.

The gun falls from his fingers. The world flickers.

 _“Five seconds, General. Are you sure about_ —?”

_“Open the doors.”_

He hears the conversation over the comms as if they’re a very, very long ways away. The sound of fighters overhead makes him crane his neck to look up, to watch as the airstrike team soars past.

Except—

As the ships dart overhead, a streak of bright blue appears high up in the air, falling towards him. He squints at it blearily, not comprehending the sight for a split second.

General Secura is plummeting through the sky like a falling star, lightsaber ignited and blazing in the dimming light. The droids see her coming, but they’re too slow to react. She lands in a graceful crouch that defies all physics and takes off like a hurricane, her blade slashing through the darkness and sending up sparks as it tears through the droids all around them.

Bly is happy to see her but her really _shouldn’t be._ Now they’re both in the blast radius, and the airstrike is going to happen _any moment now._

They need to get out of here, but Bly can’t—he can’t move, he’s too exhausted. He tries to get up while the droids are distracted by the Jedi but only makes it halfway to a sitting position before his muscles stop obeying his commands.

A deafening boom sounds close by, and the ground shakes. Panic claws at Bly’s throat as a bright light flares through the trees, half-blinding him as it approaches.

The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is General Secura’s silhouette framed by the flames of the explosion, lightsaber still in hand, facing the fire head-on.

He thinks it’s not that bad of a sight to go out to, honestly—

* * *

 

She saves him, somehow.

He wakes up in the medbay of their ship with a medic hovering over him and bacta patches sticking to his skin in four different places. He’s not sure how she did it—whether it was with the Force, or if she’d been fast enough to get him out of there, or something else—but he’s _alive._

The very first thing he does is ask after General Secura. He practically fights a medic in order to get out of bed, and even once he gets to his feet the medic doggedly follows him down the hall towards the bridge.    

Bly’s ankle still hurts. It’s functional now, but nowhere near healed. His shoulder and back throb with every tug of muscles, but Bly ignores them. He needs to see the General.

She’s in a briefing room off to the side from the main bridge, and there’s a good ten or fifteen men with her, all watching as she lays out some sort of plan on the holoprojector nearby. When the door slides open to let Bly in everyone turns. For a moment, there’s a wave of noise—brothers shouting congratulations, cheering for him, the medic recommending in a sort of strained voice that Bly should probably sit down.

Bly doesn't really hear any of it. His eyes are fixed on the Jedi. There’s a bandage on her head winding down one of her lekku that makes Bly cringe guiltily. General Secura meets his serious expression with one of surprise.

“Gentleman, we’ll have to finish this briefing later,” she says slowly as the commotion dies down. “If you would give the Commander and I a few moments?”

The men file out quickly enough. They cast curious looks at Bly as they go, along with final words of admiration and well-wishes. Free is the last to leave. The Captain slows to hover by Bly for a brief moment, an expression of soft relief on his face. He claps one hand onto Bly’s uninjured shoulder gently before following the others out.

Then they are alone. Bly takes a deep breath and steps towards his General, unbottling the emotions he’s been keeping in check ever since he’d regained consciousness.

“General, that was absolutely _stupid_ of you.”

General Secura blinks at him. “Commander, what—”

“You could have been killed,” Bly growls out, and now there’s a worried-angry-frustrated-concerned combination in his gut that won’t go away. “ _Force._ Did you… you would have died for _nothing._ Both of you. Did you really know you’d be able to save us both, or were you just going to hope for the best?”

She doesn’t answer him, which is answer enough. Bly shakes his head incredulously.

“I can’t—General, you shouldn’t have done that. You aren’t replaceable. I don’t know what the battalion would do without you—”

“I am not the only irreplaceable one,” General Secura interrupts sharply. “We need you just as much as I am needed.”

As flattering as it is to hear her say that, as much as it makes his heart sing, it isn’t true.

“General, there are plenty of men out there who could replace me. You can’t ever be replaced. Kriff, if I’d been the reason you’d died I would have never forgiven myself—”

“ _To me,_ Bly. You are irreplaceable to _me.”_

That makes him freeze, arguments dying in his throat.

Had she…

Had she really just said that?

General Secura steps closer to him. “Commander, I… care for you a great deal. I was not going to leave you to die regardless of the risk to myself.”  

Bly swallows nervously, crushing down the hope before it can spread too far. That doesn’t matter right now. _That doesn’t matter, stay focused._

“You are much more valuable than any of us, General. We need you to win this war. You can’t do things like that, it’s far too risky!”

“I don’t care,” General Secura snaps suddenly. She draws back a step, then, as if startled by her own actions, before taking a deep breath. “I do not regret the decision. I would do it again if it meant you survived.”

“Is _Ta’oran_ okay with that?” Bly demands. “Is she alright with throwing her life away like that?”

“We were in complete agreement when we jumped from that ship, Commander.”

Bly grimaces. That’s even worse, actually.

“Two invaluables, then. You would trade two invaluable lives for one clone?”

General Secura moves just a bit closer again, leaning forwards to emphasize the word that comes from her mouth without hesitation.

“Yes.”

She’s—she’s too close. Bly’s mind is stalling a little bit again.

He kind of wants to try and kiss her, but he’s pretty certain that would just make things worse. He’s trying to convince her that she shouldn’t ever sacrifice her own safety for someone else’s, and that’s really not going to help but the thought just _won’t go away._

She’d saved him. He’s so incredibly grateful for that, but it was too risky, she shouldn’t have done it, she could have died and it’s far better for Bly to die than for her to—

She’s too close. Bly is panicking, _panicking_ because this—this can’t happen. No, he can’t let it happen. He wants to but he _can’t._

He pulls away from her before he can do anything stupid.

“Just… be more careful next time, alright?” There’s nothing he can say that will change her mind at this point. His words come out small and defeated-sounding. “That was dangerous, sir. Please. Just… don’t give yourself up for us. It isn’t worth it.”

“Perhaps not to you,” she says, but she lets the argument go just as he is. “I’m glad you’re alright, Commander.”

“Thank you for saving me, General Secura,” he answers, a wave of exhaustion settling over his body. “I’m… going to get some rest.”

She smiles at him. “Take some time off, Bly. Heal. I’ll be waiting for your return.”

He must imagine the brief flash of disappointment that crosses her face as he makes his way out.

He _definitely_ imagines it.

* * *

 

The battalion is dying around him, and Ta’oran is dying in his arms.

He should have known their luck wouldn’t hold out forever. There are tanks in the hills around them, raining down fire, and at least a Company is gone by now, if not two.

Ta’oran is dying. There’s a hole in her torso that Bly refuses to look at—there’s nothing he can do for her, here. The last medic he’d seen had been a corpse, and even if there was a medic around who could help, he’s sure they would say the same thing.

The wound is fatal.

The only thing Bly can do now is cower behind the boulder providing him with cover and hold onto her, squeeze her hand back as she coughs up blood and takes rattling breaths that just keep getting worse and worse. He’d taken his helmet off to try and get a better look at the wound, but it hadn’t mattered in the end.

“Hold on,” he tells her quietly. “Hold on, Ta’oran. We’ll get out of this. Just hold on, okay?”

He’s lying. All three of them know she’s lying. General Secura had gone quiet minutes ago, pouring all of her concentration into attempting to heal her wounded host. It’s not doing any good. The injury is far too severe.

Ta’oran’s body spasms weakly, and her fingers clench over Bly’s so hard that he winces.

“Commander,” she forces out. Bly shakes his head.

“Don’t talk, Ta’oran, you’ll make it worse—”

“I’m dying, Commander. It’s—it’s going to get worse no m-matter what I do.” The Twi’lek sucks in a pained gasp as the impact of a tank round nearby makes the ground tremble and jostles her wound. “It’s… it’s too late…”

“No,’ Bly denies, even though she’s right. “No, Ta’oran, you can do this. _Hang on._ ”

She smiles at him. The expression is so out of place that Bly blinks in surprise.

“Take her.”

“I—what?”

“Take her. Take Aayla.”

Bly jerks. “I—I don’t… is that—I shouldn’t, Ta’oran, that’s not—”

He shouldn’t be denying her, especially not when she’s moments from death. Fortunately the Twi’lek lets out a weak huff of amusement.

“You blind idiot. I’ve been listening to her pine over you for months but refuse to act on anything out of respect for me. I have eyes. I could see you feel the same way.”

Bly is frozen in guilt and shock. Ta’oran hums.

“Please, Bly. You should be the one to take her.” Another tank round lands far too close. Clumps of dirt rain over their boulder, thudding across Bly’s armor as he hunches to shield Ta’oran.

Ta’oran has never called him by his name before. He’s always been Commander to her. He swallows nervously and tips his head down to press their foreheads together as gently as he can.

“I’ll take her,” he promises. His heart clenches painfully when she relaxes in his arms, eyes drifting away from him as if she can’t control them.

“Good,” she mutters. “Good, you two should… that’s the way it should be…”

“I’m sorry,” Bly blurts out. “I should have—we should have gotten you away from the war, and now it’s too late—”

“Not your fault,” she tells him gently. Her voice keeps getting softer and softer. “Not your fault. I wanted to stay. I was happy here, as her host, as your friend. I wanted to stay. I wanted to…”

Bly holds onto her until she goes limp, squeezing her hand gently and bowing his head in sorrow.

She hadn’t deserved such a fate.

An explosion draws him out of his thoughts before he can even go too deep. Force, the rest of his men—he has to do something, or they’ll all be dead soon.

There’s a ripple of motion below him. Bly looks down and gasps as General Secura emerges. The Jedi is an elegant light-tan color, and her fins are pressed tightly to her body. She seems to be practically drooping in sorrow, and Bly hates to do this so quickly but they’re running out of time. He picks the General up as fast as he can while remaining gentle and brings her to his mouth, steeling himself for the odd sensation—

General Secura settles into him quickly. The very first thing he feels from her is grief, much heavier than his own, and it sends his mind reeling for a few seconds before he’s able to put up a careful defense.

_#General?#_

_#Bly. Are you alright?#_

She’s blocking the worst of her anguish from him now, but he’s still all too aware of it. Bly lays Ta’oran’s body onto the ground gently and takes a deep breath.

_#I’m not sure you’re the one who should be asking that right now, sir. Are YOU alright?#_

There’s a long moment of—not exactly silence, but of pondering, and he can actually feel her thoughts spiralling, struggling to make sense of things that are happening far too fast.

 _#Not really,#_ she tells him. _#But there’s nothing to be done about it, now. The men need us.#_

Bly lets his mind sink back a little, giving her more control. She stands them up, and it’s… different. Odd. Her graceful movements don’t quite mix well with Bly’s brawler stride for a few confusing seconds. Bly takes back some control to try and balance them out without being prompted, until their presences are comfortably mixed and their movements flow correctly.

It feels… good. _Right._ Better than it should, considering everything that’s just happened. He can’t hide the wave of guilt that washes over him. General Secura soothes it gently away.

 _#It’s alright, Bly. Calm yourself.#_ Bly obeys her silently, forcing himself to relax. # _I promised Ta’oran I’d do something before we went out,#_ the General continues. _#I promised her.#_ She shoves memories at him, scenes that a look familiar to him but at the same time aren’t.

He watches himself from her perspective, sees what she sees, feels what she feels. He watches, in the span of an instant, an inward struggle of attraction and reluctance and fear and desire and dreams not unlike his own.

He watches, and realizes that his feelings are _reciprocated._

She’s just so much better at controlling herself that he hadn’t noticed anything at all.

 _#General, you_ — _!?#_

 _#Not now,#_ she says. _#Not yet, Bly.#_

Of course, not yet. They can’t deal with this while Ta’oran’s death is so fresh in their minds and while their men are still dying all around them.

Their hand extends outwards, and the blue lightsaber that Bly has practically idolized for so long flies into their hand. General Secura ignites it and settles into a fighting stance, gathering the Force around their body in preparation for the assault.

They charge the tank line as one as the men shout and rally behind them

There will be time to figure out what this all means, after they get out of here. After Ta’oran gets a proper funeral. There will be time, and for the first time since the war had begun, Bly thinks that he’s okay with waiting just a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Lame ending is lame, but whatever.
> 
> I realize some of this is very rushed, but overall... I'm somewhat pleased with it.


End file.
